


Breaking Point

by Lumeleo



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Injury, M/M, Originally Posted Elsewhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 12:15:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16832422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumeleo/pseuds/Lumeleo
Summary: Tezuka wants to continue playing despite the pain. Atobe won't let him.





	Breaking Point

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and posted in 2009 on my LiveJournal account, posted here with minor language edits.
> 
> The combination of Ikkiuchi, 7 AM, and the urge to write AtoTezu. Dark-ish, definitely not pretty.

The ball flew right past Atobe, his racket not even reaching towards it as he kept his eyes on his opponent. “Out,” he said, his voice quiet yet certainly audible, a bit out of breath as he continued, “Thirty-fifteen.” It was almost entirely silent in the enormous space, the noise of traffic closed outside the door, no one inside but themselves to cause any disturbances. The only sounds were the drafts of heavy breath, the occasional calls of score, the twang of racket strings meeting the ball echoing from the far-off walls.

Tezuka merely nodded, straightening his back as he wiped sweat off his forehead with his wristband. “Your serve,” he said curtly, making his way to the receiving position.

Atobe nodded, drawing a ball out of his pocket. His eyes on his opponent, he prepared for the serve, following Tezuka’s every movement like a predator watching his prey. One little mistake, that was all it took, a single hint of weakness…

Hitting the serve, he then prepared himself for Tezuka’s return shot, eyes alert as ever. Koori no Sekai would not work, not against Tezuka Zone… but that was hardly the only weapon at his disposal. Unlike Tezuka, who relied on his precious Zone, he ruled every inch of the court – a true all-rounder. If he put together all his skill, all his stamina, all his techniques… Tezuka Zone was nothing, absolutely nothing.

Tezuka hit the ball as expected. However, even as the ball headed towards his side of the court, Atobe’s eyes darted elsewhere. He thought he’d seen… there. Hitting the ball back, he still kept his gaze on his opponent instead of the little yellow thing. If he saw any sign of that again, just that –

There. He hadn’t seen wrong. His Insight hadn’t betrayed him. It was there, clear as day – not to most people, no, but Atobe Keigo wasn’t most people. He saw what was attempted to keep hidden. He saw the pain.

Tezuka returned the ball. However, once again Atobe made no move towards it. However, it wasn’t because he was going to call it out – the ball hit the ground neatly only barely inside the lines, just as Tezuka had certainly intended. Atobe, however, stood still, his eyes on his opponent, his hand clutching his racket so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Just as Tezuka opened his mouth to question such strange behaviour, though, he let his racket fall, springing into action from the complete stillness. In a moment he’d crossed his half of the court and leaped over the net with grace even Mukahi would certainly have accepted, then closed the distance between himself and Tezuka.

“What is it, Atobe?” Tezuka asked even as he approached, icy eyes fixed on the Seigaku captain. “Let’s continue the match.”

Atobe came to a halt close to Tezuka, their heaving chests almost touching, the distance between them so short he could feel the other’s body heat radiating from him. He tilted his head, just a little, Atobe Keigo never looked up to anyone he merely adjusted his gaze to their height difference, seeing the hazel eyes behind the glasses, half clouded over with pain Tezuka didn’t allow into his expression.

He didn’t think, he didn’t have time to. His hand came up to the other’s chest, shoving hard. Staggering backwards, Tezuka looked at him levelly. Atobe’s hands clenched into fists, perfectly manicured nails digging into pale skin, the tiny cuts burning as sweat mixed with blood.

“You idiot,” he hissed, glaring at the other, with a long stride again closing the difference between them as his hands reached out towards Tezuka again, this time to grasp on his shirt. “You shouldn’t be asking to continue the game. You shouldn’t be on the damn court at all.” His voice shook as he went on, and even he wasn’t sure why it did, was it rage or sorrow or just simple fear. “Tezuka, you idiot…”

Tezuka, however, was calm and steady as always, standing still even as Atobe let his head fall against the other’s shoulder, hands still clenching onto the shirt as though fearing Tezuka would fade away the moment he let go. “Are you quite done?” Tezuka asked, his voice level, showing no trace of emotion or feeling at all.

Atobe chuckled, bitterly, unbidden. “No, you are,” he murmured in response. “You’re done, gone, broken. You’re going to break yourself if you keep playing right now. You’re going to break yourself and it’s going to be my fault.” Again. His fault again. “I won’t let you. I won’t continue this match.” His voice was rising now, going from a murmur to speech to almost shouting. “I won’t let you, Tezuka!”

“So you give up?” Calm, calm, unmoved. “I can continue this match, Atobe. If you do not, I’ll take that as you forfeiting.”

“Damn it, Tezuka!” Atobe shook Tezuka in frustration, angry to see the other’s expression staying just as unaffected as before. “Why do you keep doing this to yourself? Why do you play when you know you shouldn’t?”

“You asked me for a match.” Ah, yes, turn the argument around, why won’t you. See if that works.

“Because I was under the impression you had recovered from the results of your reckless match with Sanada,” Atobe replied, his voice naught more than a hiss escaping through clenched teeth. “Because you told me you could play.”

“I can play,” Tezuka replied. “It may hurt, but not enough to stop me from playing. I do not require your pity.”

“It’s not pity, Tezuka, for God’s sake!” Atobe threw his arms to the air, turning away. He couldn’t stand to stare at that unmoved face a moment longer. “You shouldn’t be playing… you shouldn’t. You’ll break yourself for good. You’ll go so far there’ll be no recovery anymore.”

He wasn’t facing Tezuka anymore yet he could see him, saw that hunched form on the court, the stoic face twisted by a grimace. The aura of pain about his opponent, pain that he had caused. Deliberatedly caused it. True, he hadn’t meant for it to go that far in the first place – he’d fully expected Tezuka to back out first; after all, it wouldn’t do for him to ruin his future career over such a thing. Yet Tezuka had been stubborn, and whether it had truly been his intention or not, Atobe had been the cause of that injury. Atobe had broken Tezuka once.

He would not allow Tezuka to be broken again. Not because of him.

“I can take care of myself.” There still wasn’t the slightest waver in that voice, no hesitation. Tezuka still didn’t allow the pain to show through. “Are we going to play or not?”

“…No, we aren’t.” Atobe clenched his fists again. “If that’s what it takes to keep you from playing… if that’s what it takes, then yes, I will forfeit.” Because otherwise, he would win, and he would not accept another victory by the means of breaking his opponent.

“You surprise me, Atobe.” Judging by the voice Tezuka stood still even as Atobe walked back towards his racket. “Is it not your style to exploit your opponent’s weaknesses?”

That made Atobe spin around. The man actually had the nerve to… “Exploit their weaknesses, yes,” he ground out. “Break them for the sake of victory, no. What would victory over you mean, anyway, if it was because of your injury? Why do you think I wanted this match, Tezuka? I want to win against the real you!”

“I am right here.” Did the idiot truly not understand? “I’ll ignore your forfeit just now. Let’s play.”

“I won’t!” There were tears mingling with the sweat on his face, now. “I won’t… I can’t… Tezuka. I won’t allow it…”

“Really, Atobe.” Calm, so very calm, yet there was pain radiating from him, pain invisible to the naked eye but not to Atobe’s Insight. “It seems to me you’re the one breaking.”

“It’s just not worth it, Tezuka!” He was shouting now, his eyes blazing instead of icy, tears washing away the sweat even as his nails drew more blood from his palms. “You can’t win against me like this. And even if you could, it wouldn’t be worth it! No victory can be worth it… worth never winning again… never playing again…” Never playing again. He couldn’t think of a fate more horrifying than that.

“In a match, there is only one thing that matters.” Tezuka’s eyes were cool behind his glasses even with their pained gleam. “It’s victory… the one victory at hand. I could never give up on a victory for the sake of gaining another, another day, in another match. Because in that situation, giving up the match would feel like never playing again, ever.”

“You are insane,” hissed Atobe. “You are insane, and an idiot. Break yourself, then. Shatter yourself into little pieces for all I care, but I won’t help you with it. I won’t be the one to break you.” He turned again and walked somewhat stiffly around the net and to his racket, bending over to pick it up. “Find someone else to help you with your tennis suicide.”

“…I expected more of you, Atobe.” How dared Tezuka say that? “A true captain won’t give up for anything.”

“Do you see my team here, Tezuka?” he asked softly. “Are we in a tournament here?” He shook his head, not turning around anymore. “I happen to think that a true captain knows when to persevere for the sake of his team… and when it’s better to give up for the sake of leading his team for yet another day.”

Tezuka didn’t call after him. He didn’t turn around, either, walking away from the court and towards the changing rooms of the sports complex, for this afternoon reserved solely for their use. Images were flying through his mind, images of Tezuka almost collapsing in the middle of their match, of the pained grimace moving those always so very set features. The pain he had caused.

As soon as he reached the changing rooms, he walked to the toilet and was violently ill.


End file.
